


carola

by mellowly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Commonwealth, Dancing, Established Relationship, M/M, Mostly Character Interaction, Only minor detail, Partying, Poland tops, Semi-Public Sex, THERE IS PLOT, because they're sort of married and stuff, do the do, in the stables, medieval setting, they, uhh idk what to tag here, yeah.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowly/pseuds/mellowly
Summary: poland is a good dancer.lithuania doesn't mind losing.(or: a private celebration.)





	carola

**somewhere in Poland, june, 1569**

* * *

 

“Aren’t you happy? This is great! And I won!”  
  
They have danced for _hours_ , and Poland’s hair is sticking to his temples, the music still echoing in their ears, hands stinging red from clapping and minds dizzy from the spins and turns, the merry-go-round of dancing carola together - Their friendly competition had turned into a duel, trying to out-dance one another, much to the amusement of the lords and ladies attending the ball.  
They’ve sought refuge in the stables, leaning against the haystack.  
  
Lithuania takes a well-needed breath of fresh night air, he can hear the feast still going inside the great hall.  
“Very happy, Po. Congratulations. I am so happy I might kiss you.”  
“Why don’t you, then?”  
Poland smiles cheekily, undoing the tie in his hair, letting it fall loosely around his shoulders.  
  
The stars are shining, and Lithuania likes to think their light is from of his old Gods, sending their blessings to him even if he has abandoned them.  
“Because revenge for tripping me over when dancing is well-deserved and comes first,” he grins, grabbing Poland by the waist and tickling his neck and sides mercilessly until he is writhing in Lithuania’s grasp.  
  
“I did not- How dare you- Ah! _Have mercy!_ ”  
  
Poland giggles breathlessly and squirms and somehow sneaks a leg behind Lithuania’s knees, and there they are sprawled out in the hay, Poland kneeling above Lithuania, victorious and smirking.  
  
“That’s what happens when you lose, Liet,” he says airily, tapping Lithuania’s nose with one finger as he adjusts his grip on his wrists.  
Lithuania figures he really should know better than to challenge Poland when it comes to dirty tricks.  
  
“What will you do now, oh victorious Polska?”  
He grins and sticks his tongue out at him, to which Poland laughs out loud.  
“I think I shall claim my prize for being such a _fantastic_ dancer,” he says airily, already leaning down to capture Lithuania’s lips with his own, squeezing his hands.  
Lithuania opens his mouth for him, exhilarated and grinning. Poland kisses like a tiger, trying to steal away his breath and biting at his lips.  
  
“Is the haystack really the right place to do this?” He’s laughing again when they pull apart for air, watching Poland’s face shift and change, all red cheeks and bright eyes, his neat hair messed up again.  
“What better place, Liet? Fornicating right by the fruits of our people, how incredibly poetic. If you’re scared of getting your poor bum scratched by hay, you can have a blanket.”  
  
Lithuania knows there’s really no stopping him now - and why should he want to? The night is young and so are they, nobody will come in here until dawn; they have all the time in the world.  
“As you wish,” he agrees readily, and takes a moment when Poland is distracted to free his hands, pulling his partner down by the shirt for another kiss, and another, and one more. They’ve had wine and cakes, and he can taste it on their tongues, and Poland must have located some of the stronger stuff somewhere, if the sharp bitterness of vodka on his lips is anything to go by.  
  
Somehow, they maneuver a blanket in underneath, and although it sort of reeks of horse, Lithuania decides that any worrying he must do can come tomorrow.  
  
He doesn’t ask how in Heavens Poland managed to hide a pot of grease on his person (or in the stables), just lies back and lets him tug away his shoes and stockings, looking at the moon through cracks in the walls.  
“Hey, pay attention here, I’m undressing,” Poland scoffs, and Lithuania turns his head just in time to catch him discarding his żupan and crawling back onto the haystack.  
  
“Pretty,” he comments, because he knows it will get him a smile and Poland’s warm hands on his thighs. He parts them easily, putting one arm under his head to rest. This is the part he likes least, simply because Poland is impatient, and it’s contagious. Luckily they do this often enough to minimise discomfort, at least after a few moments - Poland’s mouth on the inside of his knee going northwards helps a lot, and he shifts, congratulating his efforts with a soft sigh.  
  
“You good there, Liet?”  
He will forever treasure the way Poland’s voice grows quiet and warm when they lie together.  
  
“Perfectly well, would be better if you hurried.” Lithuania glances down and is more than a little proud to see the effects of his squirming on Poland as well.  
It feels nice to know he is so wanted.  
“Hurry, hurry, so he says,” is all reply he gets before Poland preoccupies his mouth pretty effectively, stopping Lithuania from complaining any longer, instead opting to wrap an arm around Poland’s shoulders, blindly grasping at warm skin stretching across bone on his spine.  
  
This is the part he likes best. Poland is very, very pretty, and even more so when he does not keep his true emotions from his face, letting his mouth fall open and eyes close, and his hands twitch where they stroke Lithuania’s hair.  
  
“Oh yeah, that’s nice,” he breathes, dipping his head to kiss up and down Lithuania’s neck.  
“I have to concur,” Lithuania chuckles, excited and breathless, shifting his hips experimentally.  
  
They take their time. The blankets are soft, the night is warm, and their skin is aflame under each other’s touch, there is no rush. They pause when they feel like it, kissing again and again - They do not speak much, really. Poland occasionally murmurs endearments into Lithuania’s hair, and Lithuania needs not answer but for the quiet hitch in his breath, or Poland’s name on his lips.  
  
When their combined need grows like a wildfire between them, Poland sees it fit to hold Lithuania by the waist, increasing their pace, making Lithuania gasp and plead and cling. He knows he can hold his tongue if he wanted, but he does not; Poland enjoys the noise he makes, so he will indulge him. Besides, it’s much more pleasurable to let oneself go, he figures, just as the tension in his belly snaps like a broken bowstring and he arches against Poland, who gasps something unintelligible and shudders, pressing his forehead against Lithuania’s shoulder.  
  
Slowly, they come back from paradise, blink the stars from their vision and re-dress partially when they regain use of their limbs. 

  
“I think I love you, Liet.”  
  
Poland is holding his hand, nestled right up against him in only his undershirt.  
  
“I think I love you too. Actually, I’m fairly certain I do.”  
  
“That’s good. Then we can be together for always.”  
  
“Don’t you mean forever?”  
  
“Yeah, that. Whatever. I’ll be with you forever, Liet.”  
  
“And I with you, Po.”

 

_end_

**Author's Note:**

> well that marks a milestone of sorts, don't it?
> 
> ...I am very, very weak for medieval romance.


End file.
